Kingdom of Shadows
by TheLateNightWriter93
Summary: Clarke Griffin has lost her father and her fiancé, and now she finds herself married to the king of Arkdom. The kingdom is caught in a war with a mysterious enemy, while secrets lurk around every corner. Can Clarke learn to love Bellamy, or will the shadows destroy them both?
1. Chapter 1

**Kingdom of Shadows**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 nor do I own anything on CW.**

 **A/N: We apologize for the inconvenience! We just want everyone to enjoy this story so we fixed our mistakes! Thank you to everyone for the wonderful advice given when we asked for your help! We hope you guys keep giving us excellent advice in your reviews! I hope you guys enjoy these revised chapters and please don't be afraid to review, we love hearing from you guys!**

 **Chapter One**

Today is the day, Clarke thought as she watched the big black carriages roll through the muddy streets, their wheels sloshing mud from the winter rains on unfortunate passers by.

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her drab brown dress covered in filth from her trip to the well located at the center of town. Her skirts felt heavy as they swished about her legs, the wet material occasionally clinging to her chilled skin.

The wind whipped around her, pulling tendrils of hair free from the long golden braid that hung down her back. It burned her cheeks, and gave her eyes even more reason to fill with tears.

She walked passed the bakery, the smell of fresh bread doing nothing to lift her spirits. Most of the shops were closed in preparation for the day's events, their windows dark and smoke curling from their chimneys.

Clarke finally came to the small hut she shared with her parents, stepping inside the dim interior and taking a moment to bask in the heat from their hearth before drawing near the flicker orange glow.

She poured the water into the large copper kettle, settling it once more over the flames. She warmed her hands, rubbing them together in an attempt to bring feeling back to her numb fingers.

A noise sounded behind her, and Clarke turned to find a figure standing in the doorway. She would recognize him anywhere, the shaggy hair and soft brown eyes.

Finn is her first love, her only love. She'd fallen for him hard and fast two years ago at the age of sixteen. They were supposed to be married this coming spring, but the king's war had gotten in the way.

The war against their nameless, faceless enemy had been going on for a year now and they were losing men daily to the darkness of the forest. The worst part was that the king didn't seem to care. He just called more names, sent more men to their deaths.

"You're thinking awfully loud, Princess," Finn said quietly as he approached.

Clarke sighed as his arms came around her, his warmth seeping into her body. He smelled fresh like the forest after a spring rain, and she closed her eyes to breathe him in.

She felt the pressure of his lips against her hair, before he pulled away leaving her bereft without his warmth. His eyes were sad as he looked down at her, holding the desire for a future they would never have.

"Are you hungry," she asked. Finn nodded, moving to the table and taking an empty seat as she bustled about the small living space. She poured some of the heated water into a basin for him to wash up, and then began making a bland porridge for their breakfast.

She'd just removed the mush from the fire when the door opened and her mother and father entered, bundled in threadbare coats with water dripping from their noses.

Clarke's mother was the village healer, and she'd been called away early that morning to deliver a baby. Her father always accompanied her, always uneasy about his wife venturing out alone during the dark morning hours.

"Well," Clarke asked, as she took their coats and ushered them to the fire.

"Healthy boy," Abby said, her cheeks pink with cold and her hair slightly damp.

"I've never seen Tobias so talkative," Jake said of the usually somber man, who was undoubtedly now beaming with fatherly pride.

"I'm glad he and Annie are happy," Clarke said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

She and Finn would never have that if his name were called. They wouldn't get married in the spring, and there would be no children with her eyes and his free spirit.

Finn must have sensed her thoughts because his hand reached for hers, his thumb delicately stroking over her knuckles. She sighed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before setting the table and taking her place beside him.

Their meal was quiet, each person lost in their own thoughts. Clarke couldn't help the anger that began to boil at the bit of her stomach. Things were hard enough in the outlying villages of Arkdom without their young men being harvest for slaughter in a war that could never be won.

Unlike the kingdom's enemy, Clarke's had a face and a name- Bellamy Blake. The young king was the reason for her pain and heartache, and a large part of her hated him for what he was doing.

The logical part of her whispered that he was only trying to keep them safe, but as she glanced at her love sitting quietly beside her the irrational anger won out threatening to boil over.

Clarke shoved her bowl away, her porridge only half eaten. She was in no mood to eat, the festering rage making it hard to swallow- turning her food to lead in her stomach.

She watched as everyone finished, rising to take the bowls and wash them in the basin before putting them away in the cupboard. The room was quiet as she regained her seat, her hand reaching for Finn's.

"We'll leave you alone," Abby said, rising from her chair and leading Jake from the room.

Clarke watched them go, tears gathering in her eyes. She felt Finn's fingers grip her chin lightly, turning her face so she was forced to look him in the eye. Sorrow clearly lined his features, causing her heart to constrict painfully in her chest.

"My name might not be called," he said softly.

However they both knew this wasn't true. He had been spared for far longer than either had thought, and they both knew his luck was running out. Young men were growing scarce in the village, only a hand full of able bodies left.

"I wish we could run, get as far away from here as possible," Clarke said, tears rolling swiftly down her cheeks.

She felt the brush of Finn's thumb as he swiped at her tears; his eyes filled with love and warmth- something she knew she'd miss when he was gone. She closed her eyes, willing this to be nothing more than a bad dream.

"Clarke, look at me," Finn said, causing her eyes to flutter open and her gaze to collide with his own.

"If they call my name, please don't cry," he all but begged, "I won't be able to go if you do."

Clarke felt something within her break, heart-wrenching sobs causing her shoulders to shake as she covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle the gasping breaths that tore from her chest.

Finn pulled her to him, her face nestled against his neck- his pulse beating against her temple.

"I want more time," Clarke said, her voice trembling and tearful. "I know, I do too," Finn said, his hand stroking down her back in an effort to comfort her.

"I promise," Clarke said finally, "I promise not to cry if your name is called."

Finn smiled, once again wiping the tears from her cheeks as he gently kissed her forehead. "Thanks Princess," he replied softly.

They sat there for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and their ragged breathing.

Clarke could feel the chill of loneliness seeping into her bones as she thought of a life lived without him. It was unbearable, and it caused her chest to ache with grief and sorrow that she knew if she ever unleashed would eat away at her until there was nothing left.

She pushed those thoughts away, instead focusing on the man in her arms. She committed his heartbeat to memory, thinking that if the steady staccato lived on in her memory then maybe it would be enough to keep Finn alive as well.

Clarke pulled away slightly, her hands moving to Finn's face as her fingers traced over his features. In her mind she sketched him, every line and every imperfection became part of the drawing she would store so she would never forget.

"Why can't we be happy," she said brokenly, "Why can't we have all those things we dreamed about?"

She heard Finn sigh, and then a steely resolve entered his eyes as he spoke. "I'll come back to you, Clarke. I promise."

For some reason his words did nothing to comfort her, they only unleashed the rage that simmered beneath the surface.

"Don't say that," she practically screamed, "He's taking you away from me and you're never coming back! Do you hear me, Finn? You're never coming back!"

Finn was taken aback by the harshness of her tone, her words speaking of the crack forming in her very soul. He could see the way it spread throughout her being, fissuring fingers spreading out from a gaping chasm.

"Clarke, don't say those things," he pled, taking her face in his hands as his eyes begged her not to crumble to dust at his feet.

She sighed, leaning into his touch. She forced a hope she didn't feel to shine in her eyes as they opened, her lashes fluttering as she met his gaze once more.

"Come back to me, my love," Clarke said softly, "Come back so we can fill our house with children, and grow old together."

Finn smiled softly, his lips meeting hers in hopeful promise just as the bell began to toll. They pulled away, their hearts dropping as her parents once again entered the room.

"It's time," Jake said sadly, wishing his daughter didn't have to go through this.

The young couple nodded, donning their coats before once again joining hands and making their way out into the dreary November day.

Clarke held Finn's hand tightly as they journeyed into the town square, people crowding in around them with their head's hung low and sorrow blanketing their features.

She looked to the platform where the king's royal advisor, Marcus Kane, stood with a scroll held in his trembling fingers. She could tell even at this distance that the man hated this part of his job.

Kane unfurled the scroll, clearing his throat as his eyes darted over the list. Each name was called, the crowd murmuring angrily and women wailing as they hugged their loved one's one last time.

Then Clarke's heart turned to lead in her chest as Finn's name echoed out in the cold morning air. She watched as the color drained from his face, and she didn't think she'd be able to keep her promise not to cry.

He turned to her, his hands shaking with fear and cold as they cupped her cheeks.

"No matter what happens," he said softly, "Know that I love you."

Then he kissed her, a kiss of desperation and sorry as she clung to him for dear life. When he pulled away, Clarke felt as though he was taking a piece of her heart with him.

The organ itself felt raw and torn, beating wildly in her chest as she realized that this was the last time she would see her love. She refused to let that show in her face, however, as she fought to curve her lips in a smile.

"I love you too. May we meet again," she whispered before he disappeared into the crowd.

 **-Lin &Shel**


	2. Chapter 2

**Kingdom of Shadows**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The 100, nor do I own anything on CW.**

 **Chapter Two**

It had been one month since Finn had been taken, and Clarke was slowly going insane. If it weren't for the illness that had swept through the village due to the freezing January winds and lack of proper heat fueling, she probably would have shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, damaged beyond repair.

Abby, as the village healer, was busy carrying for those who had succumbed to the sickness- the vulnerable population of children and elderly. She collected little coin, unable to take her patients' last shilling for something so trivial as a mustard poultice or warm broth.

Clarke helped wherever she could, treating the wounded while her mother tended to the sick. It became routine for her to care for the cuts and scrapes of villagers in the warmth of her kitchen with gentle hands and softly spoken words of comfort.

Her work became a distraction, keeping her hands and mind busy so the latter didn't wander to thoughts of Finn. She missed him, and the long, dark winter nights were the worst. Clarke often dreamed of him, seeing his death in every gruesome way her brain could possibly imagine. Many a night she woke to her father's worried blue eyes as he woke her from her torture.

He was the only person who could calm the rapid beating of her heart-could ease her pain, if only for a time, as he held her close. His voice was a deep rumble of murmured assurances that everything would be alright, that Finn would return to her. His hands were tender and sure as his fingers carded through her blonde hair, causing her eyes to droop and her breathing to deepen.

It was times like these as they sat in peaceful silence in the wee morning hours that she remembered her childhood. The memories brought her comfort, leaving her with happy dreams of summers spent romping in the fields as her father and mother strolled behind her.

On Clarke's occasional day off from assisting her mother, she could often be found in the tavern with her father. He was one of the village representatives and therefore an important political figure.

Along with him was Thelonious Jaha, a long time family friend prone to dramatic speeches and thoughts of grandeur. The debates between the two men usually brought a smile to Clarke's face, as they argued good naturedly back and forth.

However, something had changed in recent days. She had noticed her father's change in mood when he would leave to meet his old friend, more foreboding than cheerful. He no longer wore a smile when he would return; instead sporting dark smudged beneath his tired eyes and worry etching his features.

Clarke began to worry, deciding to speak with her mother about it. Abby shared none of her concern, telling her instead to stay out of the men's business.

"These are troubled times, Clarke," her mother had said, "You're father has some difficult choices ahead of him."

Her mother's cryptic answer had only fueled her worry; so one night she followed her father to the tavern. She stood huddled in a sheltered alcove just outside one of the dingy windows and watched as the men talked. Their voices were hushed and their faces masked with anger and annoyance.

At one point, Thelonious slammed his fist down against the wooden table causing their mugs of ale to tremble, and more than a few worrisome glances to dart their way.

Clarke frowned as her father stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor and nearly toppling over before he turned and stomped out of the tavern. She followed him home, leaving a good distance between them so as not to be found out.

She arrived shortly after her father, stepping into the house and quietly closing the door behind her. Shouts echoed from the tiny kitchen, and she quickly hid for the second time that night.

"I can not do it!" Jake shouted, throwing his hands in the air to further emphasize his words.

Abby shook her head, clearly showing her disappointment.

"It's the only way to put a stop to this, Jake!" Abby pled to her husband.

"Jaha's plans will only quicken our death, if we wait a little longer the war could soon end," he tried to reason with the tiny brunette. "Do you realize what a rebellion could mean for us?"

"Jaha will lead us to victory, the king will see how displeased his people are." Abby said reaching for her husband, only to have him turn away from her. "Think of Clarke, Jake, think of what the king took from her," she said, desperation coating her words.

"I am thinking of Clarke, and I don't want her killed because Jaha asks for volunteers to join his little rebellion," Jake all but snarled.

Clarke couldn't believe what she was hearing. A rebellion ran by Thelonious Jaha? Her mother wanted them to be a part of it? She could think of only one reason Thelonious wanted revenge- for Wells, his only son that had been collected only three months ago.

Clarke sighed in relief, thankful her father refused to join the rebellion. Jaha and his men would surely be found out, and when they were the king would show no mercy.

As the days passed, Clarke could see the shift in her parents' relationships. They barely spoke, choosing short, clipped sentences and sharp glances. The tension was palpable and she feared if she spoke up her parents would know that she'd been eavesdropping.

Clarke decided to let them work it out on their own, never telling Abby what she knew. As she worked alongside her mother, she feigned ignorance, knowing that taking sides in this petty argument would only deepen the rift between her parents.

One morning Clarke woke to cold and silence. The hut was empty save for her, her parents already gone for the day. She cut off a piece of bread from the loaf she'd made the day before, slathering it with butter and jam before washing it down with a glass of milk.

She found a note on the small rickety table, her mother's looping script scrawled across the yellowed paper. "Clarke, I'm out of willow bark and chamomile. Please gather some for me. – Mom", it read.

She grabbed her foraging bag, slipping her long knife into the scabbard at her back before embarking on her journey in the cool morning air. The clouds were dark and low hanging, promising snow later in the day.

Clarke trudged through the muddy streets, the muck sucking at her boots and coating the hem of her dress. She pulled her coat tighter, her woolen mittens offering scant protection from the cold, and her blonde hair blowing across her face to tickle her cheeks.

It was a short walk to the edge of the village, but a lengthy trek into the woods. The trees were bare, their leaves scattered in various states of decay on the forest floor.

Squirrels scampered to and fro, their pushy tails flicking in annoyance as Clarke walked by. She wandered through the forest, bending occasionally to harvest what she needed.

All around her the earth seemed barren and desolate, much the way her own heart felt. Her steps were slow and weighted as she trudged along, her shoulders sagging in quiet defeat at the loss of her one true love.

Clarke daydreamed that Finn was simply waiting for her back in the village, and she thought of the things she'd tell him when she returned. She thought of how his hand would feel in her own, and how his eyes would sparkle in mischief.

However, she knew this was just a new form of torture because Finn wouldn't be waiting for her. He was gone, probably never to return and there was nothing she could do about it.

She finished gathering what her mother needed, beginning the lonely walk back to the village. As she drew nearer, she could tell that something was wrong. A large crowd was gathered at the center of town, but there wasn't going to be another conscription for another two weeks.

Clarke picked up her pace, shoving her way through the crowd until she finally saw what held their attention. She looked up, stark fear coursing through her veins when she saw her father standing on the platform with a rope around his neck.

His eyes met hers, full of sorrow, as a smile curved his lips.

"Goodbye Clarke," Jake said.

Clarke tried to move closer, but the door opened and his body dropped. She stood in silence, watching as her father hung motionless. His neck had been broken on impact, and for that she would later be grateful.

At the moment, all she knew was that another person she loved had been taken from her. She screamed, a sound she barely recognized as it ripped through her throat.

Then her mother was at her side, silent tears rolling down Abby's cheeks. It all clicked into place then, the foraging trip and why Clarke had been sent out of the village.

"You did this," Clarke said, her voice hoarse as she shrank from her mother's touch.

"Clarke, honey, I begged them to find another way," Abby said, her tone beseeching her daughter to understand.

"You took him from me! How could you," Clarke screamed, "I hate you! I will never forgive you for this!"

Just then, Thelonious Jaha appeared. "Clarke, your father was a danger to the movement. We had to do what was best for the greatest number of people."

Something inside Clarke broke at that moment, and she felt ice fill her veins as she turned to face the man she'd thought to be her father's friend.

"You are a dead man, and don't think for one moment that I will forget what happened here today," Clarke said before turning to leave.

Her mother's hand on her arm stopped her, what once was a comfort was now abhorrent. "Please Clarke, you have to understand…" Abby pled.

"No, you understand," Clarke said through gritted teeth, "I wish it had been you instead."

Clarke ran back to her small hut, flinging the door open and hurried through the doorway. She didn't spare at a glance around her home because as far as she was concerned, this was no longer her home.

She quickly grabbed her leather satchel, stuffing her two extra dresses inside along with her night shift. She gently packed her sketchbook and pencils, and as a last minute addition- her father's journal.

Clarke shoved her coin pouch in the pocket of her dress and grabbed her thick cloak from the peg by the door. She also grabbed a small loaf of bread wrapped in a clean rag, a jar of honey, and some oats- placing it in her satchel along with the other goods.

She had no intention of staying in the small hut filled with memories of her father, and stuck with her mother who thought her father had been an acceptable loss for the greater good of Jaha's rebellious cause.

Clarke still couldn't believe her mother had allowed this to happen- had allowed Jaha to murder her father in the name of justice all because he refused to be part of their movement. The way she saw it, the only true justice would be the great Thelonious Jaha hanging from the same rope that had taken her father's life.

Clarke's anger grew; consuming her to the point that she knew it would soon boil over. The last thing she wanted to hear were her mother's footsteps as she quickly rushed through the front door.

"Clarke?" Abby's tone was sharp but filled with concern. "Where are you going," she asked, taking small cautious steps toward the small blonde.

"What does it matter?" Clarke's words came harsh and quick. She finished putting her things together and slipped on her thick cloak.

"Clarke, please stay. Come with me to the meeting and see things are not what they seem." Abby pled.

Clarke turned sharply, letting her mother see the tears staining her face and the fire burning in her angry blue eyes.

"And if I refuse, will you kill me too," she asked, venom saturating her tone.

Abby's features turned to stone, giving Clarke a hard look. She hurried toward her daughter, grabbing her bag and tossing it on the floor- the contents scattering across the floor.

"You will come with me to the meeting and you will know the truth. Your father may not have liked it, but it was the only way," Abby demanded.

Abby sounded insane; Clarke could see it in her mother's brown eyes, a crazed glow transforming her from the loving mother she'd once been into a power hungry maniac.

"I will not listen to this," Clarke said, backing away from her mother. She picked up her bag, tears coursing down her cheeks, turning from her mother and every memory that lived in this home.

"If you leave, Clarke, I can not give you protection."

Abby now sounded desperate, like losing her daughter was too much when not one hour before she watched her husband hang as a traitor. He wasn't a traitor; he was a good man, an amazing father.

Clarke refuses to pity her mother because Abby Griffin looks nothing like a grieving widow. She assisted in the murder of Clarke's father and for that she would never forgive her.

Without looking back, Clarke exited the small hut, her last words echoing in her mother's mind, "This is all your fault."

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **-Lin &Shel**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Clarke swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks as she walked through the darkening streets of the village; long shadows falling across her path as the sun sank lower in the sky. Her satchel grew heavy and her steps were leaden as she finally walked through the door of the tavern.

She knew of no where else to go to escape the cold, snow beginning to fall in soft white flakes that caught in her hair and eyelashes. The old hinges gave their welcoming squeak, Nyko looking up from his place behind the long wooden bar.

"What can I do for you Clarke," the bearded man asked.

Clarke took a seat at one of the rickety stools, laying down one of her coins. "A cup of tea would be heavenly," she said with a smile, trying to hide the storm of torment warring behind her eyes.

The man left her, disappearing into the kitchen before and returning shortly with a steaming cup. He set it before her, pushing her coin away.

"I heard about what happened to your father today. He was a good man, and I'm sorry for your loss," Nyko said, his voice soft with sympathy.

Clarke didn't want his pity, but she also didn't have much money. She thanked him, taking a slow sip of the warm liquid and allowing the heat to spread through her body.

It had been a long day, and she was so tired. She took her time with her tea, her hands wrapped around the plain earthenware mug as the cold seeped from her fingers.

Her mind wandered to what her next move should be. She had nowhere to stay, and no way to make money. She refused to go crawling back to her mother, so her only other option was to freeze to death- at the moment that didn't sound like such a bad idea.

"You looking for work," Nyko asked gruffly, his beefy hands moving briskly as he polished one of the tin mugs used for ale.

"I am," Clarke replied, "Do you know where I might find something?"

"I'm looking for some extra help," he replied, "There's room and board in it for you, and six pence a week."

"I'll take it," Clarke said offering her hand.

It wasn't much, but it was better than dying of exposure or starvation- whichever would have gotten her first. She watched as Nyko nodded, his lips quirked in what might have been considered a smile.

"Very well, if you're done there I'll show you to your room," he said, walking around the wooden bar and to a narrow doorway.

Clarke grabbed her satchel, rushing to follow him. He led her down a short hallway, pointing out the storage room, linen closet, and then walking into the kitchen.

It was a good-sized room with a large fireplace for cooking, along with a brick oven and tall washbasin. A table stood at the center, its wooden surface scarred and stained from use, while one lone chair accompanied it.

The blonde stopped, barely managing to keep herself from running into the burly man before her. She peeked around him, watching as he pulled back a tattered curtain to reveal a small bedroom.

"This will be your room. I need someone to help out in the kitchen and at meal times, along with some cleaning here and there," Nyko said.

"I can do that. Thank you, Nyko," she said as the man turned to leave.

"You're welcome. Now get some sleep, you'll have a lot of work to do tomorrow," he replied before leaving her alone.

Clarke glanced about the small room, taking in the narrow bed and crates that littered the floor. She placed her satchel on the straw mattress, rummaging through it in search of her night shift.

She changed quickly, burrowing under the thin coverlet and staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow she would put her room to rights, replace the straw in the mattress, and banish the cobwebs and dust.

Tonight, however, she couldn't even keep her eyes open long enough to worry about the coming day for long. She felt her eyelids droop, sleep quickly claiming her.

The next morning Clarke woke with a start, two unfamiliar voices echoing just outside her room. They were hushed and barely decipherable to her sleep-fogged mind.

She got up, changing into one of her older dresses she'd brought with her before braiding her blonde hair down her back. There was no mirror or polished metal to check her reflection, so she just hoped she looked decent as she stepped through the curtain.

Clarke felt her eyes widen at the sight before her. Two boys not much older than her stood at the wooden table, flour dotting their clothes and smudging their faces. They looked at her with startled expressions, their hands covered in gooey dough.

"We're sorry," the taller of the two said, "We didn't mean to wake you."

"Nyko told us to let you sleep. Said you'd had a rough day yesterday," the other added, his dark eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine," Clarke said with a smile, "I appreciate Nyko's concern, and your thoughtfulness, but I'd like to be of use."

She resisted the urge to laugh as both boys sighed in relief, wiping their hands on a towel before extending their hands in greeting.

"I'm Jasper," the tallest said, a lopsided grin curving his lips.

"And I'm Monty."

Clarke shook their hands, giving them her warmest smile. "It's nice to meet you both. I'm Clarke."

"Can you bake bread, Clarke," Monty asked hopefully, his dark eyes pleading.

"Yes," Clarke said, grabbing an apron from one of the nails protruding from the walls and coming to stand over the messy table. "I'll take care of this."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Jasper said, before both boys turned and made a speeding exit.

Thankfully Clarke knew how the inn operated. Breakfast served during the morning hours, a light lunch, and then a hearty supper in the evening. She finished the bread, cleaning up the disastrous mess her two new friends had made before starting on breakfast.

She set the dough to rise, covering it with a clean square of cheesecloth before making her way out the back door. She easily found the stables, the cow waiting to be milked.

Clarke put a bit of hay in the manger before pulling up the stool and positioning the pail in its place. She leaned her head against the cow's hip, and soon the rhythmic swish of milk entering the wooden bucket formed a soft chorus with the ever-present swish of the cow's tail.

When the pail was full she gave the animal an affectionate pat on the neck, large brown eyes meeting hers before the cow went back to her breakfast. She left the milk near the entrance of the stable while she gathered the eggs from the small coop just to the right of the barn, slinging the basket over her arm and once again taking up the heavy bucket and making her way back to the kitchen.

Clarke looked around the kitchen, trying to decide what to make for breakfast, when her gaze fell on a few loaves of bread. Upon closer inspection, they were a few days old and fairly stale.

She crumbled them up into a large pot, pouring milk over the top and adding a few eggs she'd whisked. She put her bread pudding over the fire, letting it thicken while she put the milk and eggs in the outdoor cool house so they would keep.

When she returned, the bread dough had risen, so she divided it up into four equal parts. She expertly formed four loaves, placing them in the brick oven on a smooth board over the smoldering coals.

Clarke checked the bread pudding, finding it thick and ready to serve just as Nyko entered the kitchen.

"Something smells good," the man said with a smile as he inhaled the aroma of baking bread.

"Fresh bread's in the oven, and bread pudding is on the menu for breakfast," Clarke replied as she added butter and a bit of saffron to the concoction.

"Perfect, you can start serving within the hour," Nyko said before leaving the way he'd come.

Two hours later Clarke stood over the washbasin in the kitchen, her arms elbow deep in sudsy water as Monty and Jasper carried in the bowls and utensils from breakfast.

"You did great, Clarke," Jasper said with a huge grin, "I don't think we've ever had a morning without a complaint."

"Thanks for helping me," the blonde replied, "I'd have never gotten all of those men served without you."

"Happy to be of service," Monty said with an exaggerated bow, "We'll be back later to help with lunch."

Clarke watched them go, shaking her head as a genuine smile curved her lips. This might not be home yet, but she could already tell that she was going to like it here.

 **00000000000000**

The weeks passed and Clarke enjoyed her job more and more. She was free to make her own menu, Nyko complementing her on her choices and even giving her a raise her second week.

Her little room was now warm and inviting, her sketches adorning the walls and her clothes hanging on the pegs that Jasper had hung for her. The crates held her meager belongings, and it was feeling more and more like home with each passing day.

She loved talking and laughing with Jasper and Monty, the pair never ceasing to make her smile. Even Nyko could brighten her day with an encouraging word or his dry humorous banter.

Clarke stirred her pot of lamb stew, her mouth watering at the hearty aroma. Jasper and Monty were just coming in to help her start the dinner service, smiles on their faces as lively chatter flew between them.

"Talk to her," Monty said, elbowing his friend in the ribs.

"I can't! She doesn't even know I exist," Jasper said, the smile falling from his face.

Clarke turned from slicing bread, her hands on her hips. "Jasper Jordan, if this is about Miss Maya Vie, then she certainly knows you exist. Talk to her," she said sternly, her lips fighting not to quirk in a smile.

Jasper heaved a great, dramatic sigh, "Are you sure, Clarke?"

"Of course I'm sure. Talk to her tonight," Clarke said, bumping his hip with her own as she passed with a platter of bread.

She made her way out into the dining hall, her thoughts turning to the day that Finn had asked if he could pay her court.

 _It was a beautiful summer day, and Clarke was sitting beneath the shade of a towering oak- her sketchbook open in her lap. Light filtered through the leafy canopy, and a soft breeze unsettled little wisps of hair that tickled her cheeks._

 _She hummed as she sketched the man she fancied herself in love with, his kind eyes staring back at her from the page. His shaggy hair framed his features, a mischievous smile brightening his face._

 _She was just putting the final touches on the drawing, her finger smudging in the appropriate contrasting_ shadows, _when a noise sounded to her right. She looked up in just enough time to watch as Finn Collins plopped down beside her._

 _Clarke gave him a shy smile, her gaze meeting his as his hand shot out and grabbed for her sketchbook. She extended her arm quickly, moving it out of his reach. He was too quick for_ her _though, gripping her waist and causing them both to tumble into the grass._

 _She lay there for a moment, stunned as she stared down into his gorgeous light brown eyes. She watched as they darkened slightly, the thumb at her waist stroking absently over the material of her favorite light blue gown._

 _"Hi," Clarke said breathlessly._

 _"Hi," Finn replied, his voice deeper than she remembered._

 _What are you doing here," she asked, moving from where she'd fallen across his chest._

 _Before she could move, he grabbed her sketchbook and opened it to the drawing she'd just completed. Clarke waited anxiously as he examined her portrait of him, his eyes serious until they lit with his playful smirk._

 _"Were you thinking about me," Finn asked as he returned her book of drawings._

 _"If you really must know, yes I was," Clarke said, holding the book to her chest._

 _"That's good," Finn replied, stepping closer, "Because I think about you too."_

 _"You do," Clarke asked in wonder as his fingers laced with her own._

 _"_ Yes _I do. That's why I came to ask if it would be alright if I called on you tonight," Finn asked nervously, his brown eyes filled with uncertainty._

 _"I'd love that," Clarke_ said, _her grip on his hand tightening._

 _Before she knew what was happening, Finn's lips brushed her own in a soft, sweet kiss. When her eyes once again met his, they both wore broad smiles- their eyes_ alight _with the same excited anticipation._

 _Then his hand slipped from her own, his voice filled with his reluctance to leave. "I'll see you tonight, Clarke," Finn said softly as he turned to go, her eyes never leaving him until he disappeared from view._

Clarke was pulled from her memories when a hand closed over her wrist. She looked up expecting to see Finn, a smile ready to burst forth. Instead, she came face to face with Dax Hughes.

He was tall and broad, a sinister smile curving his lips. His father owned a good number of the businesses in the village, making him one of the wealthiest men around and his son a pompous jerk.

Well hello there, Clarke," Dax purred, "I'd heard you'd been reduced to common labor, but I just had to see it for myself."

"Let go Dax," Clarke growled.

She strove not to hate anyone, however Dax made it hard. She knew that his father paid off some of the royal officials so that his son was never drafted into the king's war. It just wasn't fair that a man as good as Finn was sent to his death, while scum like Dax was allowed to live.

"Come on, Clarke. You and I could have a lot of fun together," Dax said, his voice low and seductive.

Clarke felt sick, her skin crawling at the thought of this man touching her. Anger soared within her, but she tried to keep it at bay. Instead she asked one more time, "Dax, please let go."

He laughed at her then, a harsh cruel sound that sent a shiver down her spine. Suddenly he pulled her face even with his own, his hot, acrid breath ghosting over her skin as his eyes bored into her own.

"My father just bought this tavern, so everything in it belongs to him. Since I'm his only son, that means that it all belongs to me as well, which includes you. You are mine, Clarke, bought and paid for," Dax said menacingly.

Clarke couldn't stop her rage this time, the hot malice boiling over- not to be contained. She slapped him hard, his head jerking back with the force of it as angry red welts appeared on his cheek.

"You'll regret that," Dax hissed.

"You don't own me," Clarke practically yelled, "I'm not a commodity to be bought and sold, Mr. Hughes. So, unhand me this instant before I yank out that silver tongue of yours."

Dax let go with a shove, sending Clarke staggering backwards. Then he yelled for Nyko, her boss hurrying over with a dark scowl marring his features.

"What is the meaning of this," Nyko asked, his concern filled gaze taking in Clarke's angry countenance before he turned to glare at Dax.

"You're employee assaulted me," Dax whined, "I want her fired."

"I'll do no such thing," Nyko said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You can easily be turned out onto the streets, Nyko. My father will make sure of it if you don't turn out this little wench," Dax spat.

Clarke watched as Nyko deflated, a look of defeat entering his dark eyes. He turned to the little blonde, an apology on his lips.

"It's alright, Nyko. I understand," Clarke said quietly, "I'll get my things."

She passed Monty and Jasper on her way to her room, the pair giving her a look of such sorrow she nearly burst into tears. Instead she squared her shoulders, intending to remain strong if it killed her.

Clarke quickly packed her meager belongings, leaving behind all that was safe and happy as she walked out into the cold dark night.

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **-Lin &Shel**


	4. Chapter 4

**Kingdom of Shadows**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The 100, nor do I own anything on CW.**

 **Chapter Four**

Clarke felt the hard thud of the door jolt up her arm, the cold air seeping through her cloak and stinging her hands. She began her walk down the muddy, snow-covered streets, tears gathering in her eyes.

The freezing slush began to leach into her boots, soaking her woolen socks. The wind picked up, carrying with it fluffy, white flakes that stung her cheeks and tugged at her braid. She needed to find shelter soon, or she would freeze before the sun rose the next morning.

The village was dark, and Clarke's only source of light were the small lanterns hanging on tall posts that lined the streets. The townspeople were already in for the night, their windows boarded up to keep out the cold and snow.

The lanterns cast long shadows across her path, the dim glow barely enough to see by. Soon despair began to niggle its way into her heart, causing her tears to flow freely down her cheeks. She leaned against the nearest building, allowing herself a moment of grief.

After a moment, she wiped her face free of tears and straightened her shoulders. No, she was not going to feel sorry for herself. She was going to continue on her way, and find someplace warm to spend the night.

As Clarke trudged along, her feet numb and her fingers tingling with cold, her thoughts turned to Finn. If he were here, he wouldn't let this happen to her. She wouldn't be on the streets looking for a safe place to lay her head because Dax was power hungry and overbearing.

Maybe she shouldn't have slapped him, but she wasn't about to be used for someone else's pleasure. She was strong and independent, and she could fend for herself. She didn't need her mother, and she wouldn't go crawling back to the small hut that had once been her home.

In the distance, Clarke could see the flicker of light in the church windows. She gave a sigh of relief, knowing that Father Bertrand wouldn't turn her away. It was close to midnight, so the small cathedral was her only chance.

She took a few steps forward, trying to gain her footing on the slippery cobblestone, when, out of nowhere, a carriage black as night came barreling around the corner. The driver pulled back harshly on the reigns, the two dark horses skidding to a halt.

Clarke had tried to move out of the way, but the ice at her feet caused her to slip in her haste to get away. She now found herself sitting in the freezing slush, her dress soaked and covered in mud.

She glared up at the driver, the team of horses prancing and stomping as their whinnies echoed hauntingly in the cold night air.

"You cad," Clarke shouted, "You nearly ran me over!"

The driver simply sat there, staring down at her with a look of disdain as she struggled to her feet. The tiny blonde felt her feet fly out from under her once more, her backside connecting with the hard pavement with an oomph.

Clarke was ready to give the man a piece of her mind, when she heard the hinges squeak as the carriage door opened- boots sloshing in the mud as her eyes moved up the tall frame of the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

"Out for a midnight stroll," the man asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

Clarke was speechless for a moment before all of her anger came rushing to the forefront at this man's audacity.

"You're driver nearly ran me down," Clarke said, trying to stand once more.

Before she could slip back down into the frozen slush, a warm hand gripped her arm- steadying her and bringing her to a standing position.

"That never would have happened if you were home where you belong," the man said harshly, both hands now gripping her forearms.

It was then the Clarke took a moment to really look at the man, her eyes taking in his strong features, velvety brown eyes, dark curly hair, and suddenly she realize who he was. She'd never really seen him before, but she'd heard enough to know that this very handsome man was King Bellamy Blake.

She jerked her arms free, sidestepping him, "Not all of us have a comfy palace to go home to, Your Highness," she spat.

Even in the dim lighting Clarke could see the king's eyes darken, his features morphing into a dark scowl that she was sure should frighten her. She was too angry for that. She'd lost too much to care about what happened to her now.

"With your insolence it doesn't surprise me you're out of work, and with that lovely temperament it's quite easy to see why no one wishes to give you shelter," Bellamy said with a sneer.

Clarke felt her breath catch in her throat, her eyes growing wide as she stared at him. She could feel the burning of tears just behind her eyes, disbelief swirling in her chest.

"I am so very sorry to have offended you, my lord," Clarke said with a exaggerated bow, refusing to allow him to see the hurt he'd caused.

When she looked up, she found that he'd seen it despite her best efforts to hide the affect his words had on her battered heart. To her surprise, guilt hovered in his dark eyes and his features softened slightly.

"What's your name," the king asked.

Clarke frowned, averting her gaze as she wondered if she should lie. After the things she'd said she wouldn't be surprised if the man wanted her hanged.

"Clarke Griffin," she chose the truth. Why bother lying, she was dead anyway if she didn't get out of the cold?

"Let me pay for a room in the inn," Bellamy said with an incommoded sigh, "It's the least I can do after nearly running you down."

"No," Clarke answered, averting her gaze so she didn't have to see his pitying look.

Bellamy stared at the woman before him, her clothes dripping and her body quaking with shivering cold. However, her chin was raised in defiance and her arms were crossed stubbornly over her chest. She was a fighter, and he admired that.

"Let me help you, Clarke," he said finally, extending his hand.

Clarke hesitated, staring into his dark eyes, "Why?"

"Because you're going to freeze to death out here and I don't want yet another death on my conscience," Bellamy said mockingly, but his words held a measure of truth.

Clarke glared at him, searching his face for any sign of deceit. When she found none, she took his proffered hand and stepped into the carriage. Her anger still raged within her, but she found it slightly easier to be civil now that she was warm.

She watched the king as he took his place across from her, his face obscured by murky shadows. She had to admit that he was a very handsome man, but his comely appearance hardly compensated for his surly attitude.

Looking at him now she could see why people feared him, which led to her wondering why she didn't. Perhaps it was because she despised him for what he'd done- taking her fiancé to fight in a war that had taken his life and ruined their future. That had to be it; it was the only explanation she could come up with.

Clarke felt a bit awkward sitting across from the king in her filthy clothing. She couldn't look at him, afraid she'd say something the man wouldn't so easily forgive. So, instead, she fiddled with the strap of her satchel, while her other hand gripped the seat as the carriage bumped and rocked over the uneven ground.

Soon a small camp appeared fires dotting the tent littered clearing causing Clarke to wonder why the king was here in the first place. The carriage stopped, and a man opened the door.

Bellamy stepped down first, speaking in hushed tones before the man scurried away. He then turned to help Clarke from the carriage. She stared at his hand before her chin raised a notch and she stepped down without his assistance.

"Are you hungry," he asked, guiding her to a large tent in the center of camp.

Clarke raised one blonde brow, her eyes telling him she wasn't buying his benevolent host routine.

"I wasn't raised to be a complete rake," Bellamy said with a mocking smirk.

Clarke rolled her eyes, however before she could answer her stomach betrayed her by growling loudly.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said with a chuckle that made her grit her teeth.

Soon they came to a large tent, made of fine material and brightly colored. Bellamy pulled back the flap, granting Clarke entrance. She was amazed by the luxurious furnishings- a large bed, a desk scattered with papers, a large oaken table for dining, and a few plush chairs that made up a small seating area. Even the floor was covered in fine rugs, and candles offered a bright glow as well as warmth.

The blonde was pulled from her gawking by the king's deep voice, "You can sleep here until I decide what to do with you."

Clarke bristled at his snobbish tone, "You don't have to do anything with me! I can take care of myself!"

"Yes, and you proved that so well by wandering through the snow well after dark," Bellamy replied dryly.

"I would have been fine," Clarke retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Keep telling yourself that, Princess," Bellamy said as he turned to go.

"What did you call me," Clarke raged.

"If you're going to act like a spoiled brat, then I intend to treat you like one," Bellamy explained rather calmly, "I've given you a warm place to sleep for the night, and I'm on my way to secure you a warm meal. Yet what is the thanks I get, nothing."

Clarke almost felt bad for being ungrateful, but then she remembered that all of this was his fault to begin with.

"Well then if thanks is what you wish, Your Highness, then I thank you from the bottom of my heart… That is if I had one," Clarke snapped.

Bellamy stood in stunned silence for a moment before he laughed, actually laughed right in her face. She fumed, her face turning red, and her mouth opening and closing as she fought to form a sentence that wasn't jumbled in her anger.

"I'm going to find you something to eat," Bellamy said, "Don't go anywhere Princess."

Clarke howled in frustration, chunking a pillow at the flap as it closed. She stood there cursing him for several moments until she finally realized that she was still wearing the sopping wet clothing that dripped on the now soggy carpet at her feet.

She quickly rummaged through her satchel, finding a suitable dress, and then looked around to make sure that no one was watching before changing into the dry clothing. She pulled it over her head quickly, not knowing when the king would return. She left her shoes off, her toes wriggling against the soft carpet as the warmth of the tent seeped into her icy extremities.

As Clarke took a seat at the table, she began to doubt that any of this was actually happening. She could be dreaming, or maybe she'd succumbed to the cold and was lying near death in the snow somewhere. She knew it wasn't a dream though because the pain of losing her father and Finn still lay heavy on her heart.

Soon the king returned, a tray of food in his hands. She took a moment to ponder the oddity before her, a king serving a peasant. She had to admit, that even though Bellamy was a heel, he still had a shred of human kindness left beneath his tough exterior.

Clarke waited for him to sit down, giving him a bored glance, before turning to the food he'd set before her- a bowl of beef stew and warm bread. As she ate, she tried to ignore the man who sat watching her- silent and brooding. She wondered what had happened to make so unpleasant.

"Thank you, my lord," she said icily, pushing the tray of empty dishes away from herself.

Bellamy waved his hand dismissively at the formal title, "Please, call me Bellamy."

This surprised Clarke more than anything! Why, after all they'd been through that night, would he give her permission to use his given name?

"Why," she asked simply.

Bellamy sighed, a smile playing at his lips, "This may surprise you Princess, but not many people have the courage to stand up to me as you do. I find it refreshing."

Clarke glowered, "Must you call me that?"

"You don't like being called Princess, Princess," the king asked with a devilish smirk.

The blonde groaned, giving in to childishness and sticking out her tongue. This only caused Bellamy to laugh, a nice sound if she didn't hate him with every fiber of her being.

Then he sobered, his features once again hard as granite, "Maybe you can tell me something," he said, those deep brown eyes meeting hers.

Clarke sat quietly for a moment, knowing that even though she disliked the king she still owed him her life.

"Anything, sire," she replied, pursing her lips as she too leaned back in her chair.

"Please answer honestly," Bellamy began, "Do you know anything about the rebellion?"

Clarke felt her eyes widen, but for some reason she wasn't afraid. She'd known deep down this would happen- that the king would find out that a rebellion was rising in one of his own villages in the shadow of his kingdom.

Her chin raised a notch when she realized what she would say to him. His eyes- so clear - bore into hers, holding so many secrets, and for some reason, pain. She knew right then that she wasn't going to lie. She had no one to protect.

"I do," Clarke said with a nod, "The rebellion is led by Thelonious Jaha. He's recruited many men, and removed those who would stand in his way."

Clarke felt the familiar ache in her chest, tears gathering in her eyes and falling down her cheeks as she remembered her father with the rope around his neck.

At that moment, her hatred for Jaha and what he'd done far surpassed her anger at the king and his war. So she told him everything; about Wells- the reason why Jaha mounted the rebellion in the first place, the power he thought he held, everything.

Clarke knew that she was possibly risking her mother's life, but in that instant she didn't feel anything for the woman who'd given her life. Her mother had ceased to exist the day she'd given Jake Griffin over to a power crazed mad man.

After she'd finished, they both sat there in silence. Bellamy wore a look of shock at the sordid tale she'd just relayed to him. Pity had washed over his features as she shared how she'd come to find herself on the streets, but she'd just kept going- telling him everything she thought he should know. Now all she could do was hold his stormy gaze, and wait.

Clarke took a deep breath, watching as Bellamy's mouth opened and he prepared to speak. However, the tent flap opened and a very flustered Marcus Kane rushed in, furiously waving his arms with reddened features and flashing eyes.

"Sire, you are running out of time! You must take a wife before…" Kane trailed off when his gaze finally landed on the petite blonde sitting across from the king. "Excuse me, my lord. I wasn't aware you had company."

"It's fine, Marcus," Bellamy said with a dismissive wave.

Clarke couldn't contain her curiosity for the second time that night, her question bubbling forth before she could stop it, "A wife?"

"Marcuse believes that by taking a wife, I will solidify my claim to the throne and settle these petty disturbances among the villages. He seems to think that an heir would give the people a future to believe in," Bellamy said, running a hand through his tousled curls.

"Who is this," Kane asked, frowning slightly and causing the worry lines around his mouth to deepen.

"This is Lady Clarke Griffin," Bellamy said, his eyes wandering to the beautiful woman before him.

Kane studied the woman; taking in her heart shaped face, clear blue eyes, and glorious golden curls. Then he was struck with a brilliant idea!

"Why not marry her," he asked excitedly.

"What," Clarke and Bellamy shouted in unison, shock written clearly in their features.

"You need a wife, sire. You need a woman who can stand by you in these troubling times," Kane said, " I believe that Lady Griffin could be that woman."

Bellamy stared at Clarke for a long time, and she could see the wheels turning in his mind as he thought over what his advisor had said.

"It's not a terrible idea, Clarke," Bellamy said finally with a shrug, "You would never want for anything, and I would protect with my life."

Clarke stared at the man, not moments ago they had been arguing. How could such a match be a good idea? However, Bellamy did look sincere and even if she hated him she had to admit that she did trust him for some unexplainable reason. There was only one thing stopping her.

"I'm already engaged," she replied softly, "To a man you sent to his death."

Bellamy sat in silence, his dark eyes showing his regret for what he'd done. "I'm sorry, Clarke. I know that you can never love me after everything I've done, but I need you. I will search for your fiancé, and if he is found then you will be free of our arrangement. If not, then I will give you time to come to terms with this. If you find it too unbearable, then I won't force this upon you. What do you say, Princess?"

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **-Lin &Shel**


	5. Chapter 5

**Kingdom of Shadows**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The 100, nor do I own anything on CW.**

 **Chapter Five**

Clarke sat in silence, shock coursing through her body. Her mind wandered to Finn, her heart soaring at the thought that he could be alive. Then it plummeted again when she realized that the chances of that were slim.

Looking at Bellamy, she knew that he had the power to save Finn's life. Even if it was too late, she still had to try. She felt conflicted though because if her beloved were dead, then she would have no better recourse than to marry the king. Did she really want to do that?

Bellamy had already proven that he wouldn't be an easy man to live with, and she for sure didn't love him. However, if Finn couldn't be found she didn't want to return to the village to her mother. She wanted to leave this life behind one way or another.

As Clarke considered her options, memories began to filter through her mind causing tears to flow unbidden down her cheeks…

 _Clarke had been busy all morning helping her mother in the small herb garden at the back of their hut. At her fingertips in the rich dark soil grew the plants that her mother used to heal the village of all manner of ills._

 _Most days she wouldn't mind, but that day was scorching. The sun beat down, burning her skin, as the humid breeze did nothing to bring relief. She swiped a hand across her forehead, dirt streaking in its wake._

 _Suddenly a pair of familiar hands gripped her waist, the soft press of lips she'd felt hundreds of times brushing against the back of her neck. Clarke smiled, turning in Finn's grasp and met his light brown gaze._

 _"Hey," he said smiling down at her._

 _"Hey," Clarke replied, pushing an errant piece of brown hair away from his face._

 _"Would you like to take a walk," Finn asked, his hand taking hers._

 _"I'd love to, but…"_

 _"Go sweetie, I've got things covered here," Abby said with a soft, knowing smile._

 _"Thanks Mom," Clarke grinned, her steps quickening as Finn broke out into a run._

 _Finally Clarke couldn't go any farther, her feet skidding to a halt as dust clouded around them._

 _"Where are we going," she asked breathlessly._

 _"You'll see," Finn said excitedly, tugging on her hand once more._

 _Clarke continued to follow at a slower pace as the crested a hill overlooking a small meadow. A few houses dotted the little plot near the woods, children running to and fro as sheep and cattle grazed in the distance._

 _"It's lovely," Clarke said, looking at Finn with an uncertain smile, "But what is it?"_

 _"This is where I'm going to build our home," Finn replied, his face wreathed in a bright hopeful smile._

 _"What do you mean," Clarke asked, turning to find him kneeling before her._

 _"I love you, Clarke Griffin, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me, and make me the happiest man alive."_

 _Clarke stared at the man she loved, a swirl of emotions rising in her chest and making it impossible to talk. She simply nodded, squealing when he lifted her in his arms and twirled her around. Then his lips collided with her own, promising a future filled with hope, love, and a happy home._

Looking at him then Clarke had thought that nothing could ever squelch her happiness, now she knew differently. Now she sat before the only person who could save the man she loved.

"If I agree to this," Clarke said finally, "You promise to keep your word?"

"I promise," Bellamy replied with a solemn nod, his dark eyes shining with sincerity.

"And you'll allow us to go free," she asked.

"Yes," Bellamy confirmed.

"The king is a man of his word, Lady Griffin," Kane said, straightening to his full height with one hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his waist.

"Pardon me if I'm a little leery of your king and his promises," Clarke said sharply.

Kane glared at her, and she couldn't help but think the man was touched in the head. Only moments ago he had been championing her as the future queen of Arkdom, and now he treated her as the lowly peasant she was. Which brought up another question.

"Why me," Clarke asked, "I'm a peasant, I have no royal blood."

She looked at Bellamy, the man's smirk finally reaching his dark eyes. She guessed he'd already figured everything out. Of course he had, the pretentious oaf.

"Name calling doesn't become you, Princess," Bellamy said with a wink, causing Clarke's face to heat when she realized she'd voiced her insult aloud, "In answer to your question, I am king and I will do as I please. It may be unconventional, but when have I been one to follow the leadings of polite society?"

Clarke sighed, seeing now that her lowly status really didn't matter to him. For some reason this put her at ease. Even though she fought him at every turn, Bellamy genuinely seemed to accept her for who she was.

"Very well, so what happens now- if I agree to this," Clarke asked dryly.

"You will return to the castle with the king. You're engagement will be announced, and then searches will be sent out for your Mr. Collins," Kane replied.

Clarke nodded, her gaze travelling to Bellamy, "I have your word?"

Bellamy rolled his eyes, "Yes, you have my word Clarke. Do you need it in writing? In blood perhaps?"

For some reason, Clarke found a smile twitching at her lips, "No, sire, your word is more than enough."

"So, have you accepted my offer," Bellamy asked, his hands on his hips.

"Yes, I will come with you," Clarke replied, "But when Finn is found, I leave."

"Fine," Bellamy replied, "Now get some sleep, Princess, you've got a long day of travel ahead of you tomorrow."

"So it's done," Kane said with a clap of his hands, the sound echoing the finality of Clarke's decision, "However, there is still the problem of the rebellion."

"Assemble ten of my best men, have them search the area for Thelonious Jaha. I want him found. We will make an example of their leader these rebels will never forget," Bellamy growled, his icy tone making Clarke shudder.

Kane bowed, quickly exiting the tent to do his king's bidding. After the tent flap closed, Bellamy turned to Clarke.

"Get some rest, Princess. I'll come and wake you in the morning," he said, his dark eyes serious and still reflecting his anger.

Clarke nodded, thanking him before he too exited the tent. She sighed, staring at the tent flap as she realized that tomorrow she would leave her home behind. She was about to be thrown into a different world, a world where she was out of her element.

"This is for Finn," Clarke whispered to the empty room before pushing her uncertainty to the dark recesses of her mind.

She concentrated on one task at a time, knowing she would need sleep if she would be journeying to the castle the next morning. She began to unlace the bodice of her dress, her fingers flowing in quick, practiced movements.

Clarke allowed the coarse, blue material to pool at her feet, her white shift offering little warmth- leaving her exposed. She took her dress from the floor, folding it neatly before placing it gently in her satchel.

She moved to sit on the side of the bed, her hands reaching for the thick braid that fell down her back. She gently unraveled her blonde hair, letting it fall free in a golden, curly mass.

Clarke ran her hand across the deep green silk sheets, realizing that this is what she had to look forward to. No longer would she be forced to endure rough fabric and itchy woolen bedding. From now on, she would have the best money could buy.

She lay down, sliding beneath the warm coverlet, all the while thinking she would never get used to this new life. She stared at the canvas ceiling above her, her mind drifting to Bellamy.

As arrogant as he was, Clarke was still of the impression that he was a good man- no matter how hard he tried to portray himself in a more negative light. She could hear the self-deprecation in many of his remarks, and at times she caught a glimmer of self-loathing in his dark eyes.

Her thoughts then turned to the possibility that she'd tried not to consider- the possibility that Finn wasn't alive. Sure she could refuse to marry Bellamy, but she'd still be left alone with nowhere to go.

Clarke huffed, tossing and turning restlessly. What bothered her most about this whole thing is that the thought of marrying Bellamy wasn't that unattractive. It didn't completely repulse her as it should.

The thought made her mouth go dry and her hands begin to shake as they scrubbed over her face. She forced her breathing to even, settling her troubled thoughts by convincing herself that Finn was alive and he would be found before she would even have to think of marrying the king.

Clarke felt exhaustion settle over her like a heavy blanket, causing her mind to become foggy and her limbs to feel weighted. Her eyes closed, no longer able to hold themselves open as she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Bellamy returned to his tent, in search of the map he'd left lying on his desk. The moment he stepped into the tent, his mind went blank and he completely forgot what he'd come back for as his gaze fell on the beautiful blonde fast asleep in his bed.

Her golden locks were fanned across his pillow creating a halo around her angelic features relaxed in sleep. Her lips were slightly parted, her arms thrown over her head as she lay on her back.

He simply stood there, watching as her chest rose and fell with each breath. He hated how she made him feel, the emotions she evoked. In the span of a few hours she'd already begun to worm her way into his heart.

The possibility that he would marry this woman was one he hadn't allowed himself to think about. As far as he was concerned he was using her to stabilize his rule, and nothing else. This had nothing to do with the way her plight tugged at him, or how much he wanted to protect her from everything she was about to walk into.

Court was not the place for a woman like Clarke. It had a way of eating away at a person, and he didn't want to see that happen to her. So, right then and there Bellamy decided that he would protect this woman from all possible threats. She had been placed in his care, and he would see that she was kept out of harm's way.

Suddenly, Bellamy found himself drawing near her like a moth drawn to flame. He tried to stop himself, tired to turn and walk away without looking back. However, nothing worked and he soon found himself standing over the pretty blonde, bending to place a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

"Goodnight, Princess," he whispered before leaving just as quietly as he'd come, knowing that his heart was in serious danger.

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **-Lin &Shel**


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own The 100, nor do I own anything on CW.

A\N: we are sorry for the long wait, please forgive us! Here's something for you guys, we hope you guys like!

Chapter 6

Clarke woke disoriented, a warm hand on her shoulder. For a moment she was back in her small hut, her father surely tinkering with something near the fire and her mother fixing breakfast.

However, a deep voice quickly dispelled all thought of home- her eyes popping open to stare at the king hovering above her. She watched as a smirk curled his lips, giving him the look of a mischievous little boy.

"It's take to wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Bellamy said, his voice rumbling like the calming gurgle of a distant stream after a warm spring rain.

Despite the faint flutter she felt at the sound, Clarke still managed to scowl darkly at him- her eyes squinting against the light the filtered into the tent. Part of her hated how the man made her feel- like she wanted to choke the life from him one minute, yet on the verge of friendship the next.

She had to admit though, that one thing he did very well was keeping her mind off her troubles. Their verbal sparring matches had thus far proved to be very distracting. She spent most of her time with the man trying to think of a witty comeback or a cutting remark.

"Are you going to stay in bed all day, Princess," Bellamy taunted, one dark brow raised mockingly.

Clarke had the urge to stick out her tongue, but she resisted it. Instead she maneuvered into a sitting position, flinging the blankets off so she could swing her feet to the floor.

She watched as Bellamy turned his back, but remained where he was.

"Are you not going to leave," Clarke asked, her hands on her hips.

"No, I'm perfectly comfortable right here thank you," Bellamy said as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

Clarke huffed, tugging her clothes from her satchel with more force than necessary before changing quickly. The entire time, she glared at the back of his head- shooting daggers at those silken black curls.

"How did you sleep," Bellamy asked as she pulled her dress over her head.

"Just fine, thank you," Clarke growled.

"I'm sorry to wake you so early, but I wanted to get an early start. The journey would be much easier on horseback, but I wasn't sure if you knew how," Bellamy said in an attempt at being pleasant.

"No, I do not know how to ride," Clarke replied, searching for her stockings.

Bellamy almost turned at the sound of her rummaging around, but quickly caught himself and kept his gaze trained on the tent flap.

"I'll have to remedy that when we return home. I have many fine horses, and I think it's something you would enjoy," he said thoughtfully.

For the first time, Clarke really thought about what her life at the castle could be like. She would have more freedom, something she was in dire need of, and more responsibilities.

After she finished dressing, she gave Bellamy the all clear to turn around.

"Are you ready to go now," Bellamy asked, "It's a hard journey and I'm-"

Clarke watched as his eyes widened and his words died in his throat. He just looked at her, open mouthed and full of wonder. She didn't quite understand why he was gaping, perhaps she had something on her face. She swiped a hand across her cheek, glaring when he still stood with his eyes trained on her face.

"What," Clarke asked in annoyance, "Do I have something on my face?"

Bellamy shook himself from his trance. When he'd turned around, he hadn't expected the way seeing her would affect him. Her hair was tamed, but still a riot of golden curls. They looked so soft framing her cheeks, her blue eyes bright and full of something he couldn't quite place. She was beautiful, and he could kick himself for just now really noticing it.

"No, you don't have anything on your face. I was simply lost in thought," Bellamy groused, angry with himself for nearly letting his attraction slip.

"Well if you're done staring, can we leave," Clarke asked, arms crossed and fighting a smirk at his expense.

"Certainly, princess," Bellamy said with a mock bow, "I have some business to attend to and then all will be prepared for our departure."

Clarke resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him as he left, settling on crinkling her nose in distaste. She busied herself packing her satchel before pulling on her cloak then she took a deep breath, sweeping back the tent flap to step out into the cold morning air. It had stopped snowing, but the clouds were still dark and heavy, a thick layer of white blanketing the ground.

Clarke's gaze searched the myriad of nameless faces of the king's men, watching them as they milled about the carriages caring for the fine horses that pranced back and forth, their breath puffs of white in the frigid air.

Finally she spotted Bellamy where he stood speaking to a few of his men, a frown marring his features. Whatever information the man had just relayed, it had not pleased him- his lips forming a hard, straight line.

Clarke felt a presence beside her, turning to find Marcus Kane standing at her side. His face was set in a hard mask, his dark eyes cold and unyielding.

"Kane," the blonde greeted coolly.

"Lady Griffin, do you know the meaning of treason," Kane asked slowly, gauging her reaction.

Clarke fought to keep her temper under control. Could this man not understand that she didn't intend to betray the king?

"Yes, I do," she replied, "Do you?"

Kane stared at her for a moment, a slow smile spreading his lips.

"Yes, my queen," he said with a respectful bow, backing away before turning and leaving her to wonder about the strange advisor.

Clarke looked away from Kane, her gaze drawn back to Bellamy. He was still speaking to his men, the knights nodding along and commenting when appropriate.

Bellamy glanced her way, catching her staring at him. Her eyes widened, her cheeks reddening as her eyes fell to where her boots crunched in the snow. She hadn't meant to stare, but there was just something about him- the way his voice carried in the morning air, or how his rigid stance spoke of power and authority.

When she looked up again, he was making his way towards her. His cloak billowed around him, giving her a good view of his muscular chest and narrow waist, the fur collar brushing his jaw.

"Ready," Bellamy asked, stopping in front of Clarke with a smile.

Clarke was suddenly struck by the absurdity of the nickname, and she found herself asking the question that had plagued her from the moment the word slipped past his lips.

"Why do you call me that," Clarke asked as Bellamy stepped closer, heat radiating from his body and seeping into her own.

"Princess," Bellamy confirmed, a flicker of something passing through his dark eyes, "Because that's what you are."

"I'm a queen," Clarke said, smirking as she tilted her head to the side- studying him.

"You'll always be a princess, Clarke. You'll always look just as you do now, young, fearless, and much too proud," Bellamy replied, shocking her with the softness of his voice.

Clarke followed him to the carriage, her hand tingling as his thumb began to brush softly over her skin. He opened the door, helping her inside before joining her on the plush leather seat.

The carriage began to roll, and silence hung heavy in the air. Clarke stared out the window, watching as her home disappeared. Several emotions warred within her- grief, excitement, fear, and hope… She knew in her heart that this was right. If there was the slightest chance that Finn could be alive she had to save him.

She glanced at Bellamy, his head bent over a book he'd pulled out of his pack. His eyes roved over the pages, his fingers caressing the worn cover like the face of a beloved friend.

He happened to look up then, his dark eyes connecting with her blue ones. Clarke felt her cheeks heat, and she quickly dropped her gaze to where her hands were clasped in her lap.

She heard the snap as he shut his book, the volume now resting on the seat beside him as he studied her. She felt her eyes drawn upward, his dark orbs controlling her much like the moon reins the ocean's tide.

"What are you thinking," he asked, leaning back against the seat and crossing his arms.

"I was just remembering," Clarke said quietly, "This place holds many memories, but not all good."

"Well this will be your new start. Arkdom Castle isn't the finest, but I think you will like it there," Bellamy said with a lopsided smile.

Clarke nodded, a new thought occurring, "Sire, is there not a woman who loves you- someone who will be disappointed at our engagement?"

She watched as his cheeks reddened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish stranded on shore. However, before he was forced to answer the carriage jerked and the loud crack of wood filled the air.

Clarke felt herself being thrown forward against Bellamy's chest, his hands settling at her waist to steady her. He was so close, and for some reason that was doing funny things to her heart. She cleared her throat, quickly scrambling back to her seat.

"Are you alright," Bellamy asked, his dark eyes serious.

Clarke nodded, brushing the hair from her face just as a guard opened the carriage door. She took his proffered hand, stepping out into the cold winter wind that chilled her to the bone. She pulled her cloak tighter about her, trying to shield herself from the cold as the men discussed what had happened.

"The wheel snapped when we hit a pothole, sire," one of Bellamy's knights explained as he approached.

She watched as Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed in either concentration or aggravation- she wasn't sure which.

"Where do you suggest we do," Bellamy bellowed suddenly, his eyes sparking with anger, "We are days from the castle and hours away from the nearest village! This could have been avoided if the carriage had been inspected properly!"

Clarke frowned at his tone, watching as the knight nodded respectfully. Yes, it was unfortunate but she was no stranger to sleeping in the woods.

"We could set up camp," she suggested, four pairs of eyes turning on her- a blush staining her cheeks, "In the morning some men can retrieve a wheel from the village, but for the night we can stay here."

"It's too dangerous," Bellamy said, shaking his head in dismissal.

"For you maybe," Clarke sniffed, "but I've spent many a night in the forest."

She watched as Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, his deep sigh transforming into a puff of white in the cold air.

"Fine," he groused.

Clarke fought the urge to smirk in triumph as he began to bark orders at his men. His knights scurrying to do his bidding as they set up his tent and hobbled the horses for the night.

When they were finally done, a fire was lit and the only sound was the murmur of low voices and the shuffle of horses' feet. The moon cast its soft glow on the world, throwing the trees into shadow and dancing on Bellamy's dark curls.

Clarke couldn't help but smile as she watched him with his men, talking and sharing stories back and forth. She felt her heart flutter at the flash of his grin, and then she felt guilty.

Her heart was supposed to belong to Finn, however after only knowing Bellamy a short while the fickle organ raced at his touch and thrummed at his laugh. She didn't understand it, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Clarke was pulled from her thoughts when a shadow passed over her. She looked up to find Bellamy standing over her, his hand outstretched.

"We're going to have an early morning, Princess," he explained, motioning toward his tent.

She nodded, accepting his offer of assistance as she rose from the log she'd been sitting on. His palm was warm and calloused, not what she'd expect from a man who she'd assumed had known luxury his whole life.

Clarke followed him to his tent after taking back her hand, rubbing it on her skirt to banish the spark his skin had ignited. He didn't seem to notice, holding back the flap so she could enter first.

It wasn't as grand, only two bedrolls spread out. One was situated near the center while the other lay near the opening. She stood staring for a moment, unsure if she should choose one or if she had any choice at all.

Clarke was about to ask when she turned to find Bellamy shirtless, unbuckling the scabbard that hung at his waist. She tried to avert her gaze, her cheeks heating as her heart began to beat out a staccato rhythm.

"Sleep Clarke," Bellamy said, a smile in his voice.

She huffed, turning her back and removing her cloak and boots before lying down on the soft furs. She lay still, eyes open and mind wandering to the sight of Bellamy's chiseled muscles.

Clarke scrubbed at her eyes, sighing loudly as she forced her eyes to close. She heard Bellamy's chuckle, and that only made her even more angry- aggravated with herself and annoyed with him.

She placed her focus on the night sounds- the hoot of an owl or the wind in the trees- anything to take her mind off of the infuriating man whose breathing had deepened in sleep only moments ago.

She finally settled, drifting into a light sleep, when a loud whoop sounded just outside. She sat straight up, heart pounding in fear as she watched Bellamy jolt to his feet- sword in hand.

"What was that," Clarke asked.

"Bandits," Bellamy answered just before he disappeared into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 nor do I own anything on CW.

A\N: surprise! New chapter! Why so early? Well because we felt so bad for not uploading in such a long time we thought we would make it up to you by giving you an early new chapter!

Chapter 7

Clarke watched as Bellamy grabbed for his sword and pulled on a shirt as he rushed out of the tent. She took a moment to dress, not bothering to secure her hair before stepping to the open tent flap.

The scene took her breath away, fear congealing in the pit of her stomach. Men clashed in battle, the screams of the wounded sending a shiver up her spine. Bloodied bodies fell to be trampled by horses and fleeing men, and she felt ill at the sight.

She searched for Bellamy, finding him fighting two men at once. She was terrified something would happen to him. Not only because that would leave her to fend for herself, but also because there was something about him that she just couldn't get over.

These were not mere bandits; they had training and weaponry that far surpassed that of a simple highwayman. She felt so helpless watching Bellamy's men be struck down one by one, but there was nothing she could do.

Clarke felt hopeless tears streaming down her cheeks, a scream lodging in her throat as Bellamy sank to his knees-blood mingling with the mud staining his shirt.

She was about to run to him when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked, her gaze colliding with Finn's. He was dressed as one of the attackers, dark furs covering his body.

For a moment she just stared at him, unable to believe her eyes. She watched as he turned away and ran to the tree line with the mass of men that had only moments ago descended on them.

Clarke stood in mute confusion, her mind trying to explain what her heart already knew. She refused to believe it! Finn couldn't be part of the rebellion, he'd been captured, brainwashed, something.

She cowered behind the tent flap as Kane was dragged away yelling threats and insults until one of the rebels knocked him out with the hilt of his sword- his body going limp as blood trickled from the wound on his forehead.

Clarke stayed hidden until only the field of dead knights lay before her, the rebels vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. She walked cautiously out into the moonlight, covering her mouth to muffle her sobs as she stepped over the bodies of Bellamy's men.

She'd lost sight of the king, and she was frantic to find him. He could be alive, and if he wasn't she had to know. She scanned hollow faces, unseeing eyes gazing up at the stars, their bodies twisted at unnatural angles.

The grass was tainted with blood, dark and sticky. She began to run, tripping over limbs in her haste to find Bellamy. He had to be alive! What would she do if he'd fallen with the rest?

Clarke was ready to give into her hysteria when she heard a moan. She turned quickly to find the king struggling to rise from the ground, using his sword as leverage.

"Bellamy," she breathed, rushing to his side to steady him.

"Are they gone," Bellamy asked, his breathing coming in ragged gasps.

"Yes, I don't understand it," Clarke said, "Why did they retreat?"

"Perhaps they got what they came for," Bellamy said darkly.

"They took Kane," Clarke said sadly.

"That is a problem," Bellamy replied, "but I think they were sent to kill me. Obviously they believe they've succeeded."

"Those weren't bandits, were they," Clarke asked as she helped him into the tent.

"No, those men were part of Jaha's rebellion. However, he's getting help. Probably sold his soul to that Grounder witch," Bellamy spat.

"Witch," Clarke asked with wide eyes.

"She's not really a witch, just a heartless woman with an axe to grind," Bellamy said with a shake of his head.

Clarke helped him to sit, reaching for his shirt with an apology in her eyes. He hissed as she gently pulled away the material, helping him get it over his head before she discarded it altogether.

She knelt before him, running her fingers over the long cut that ran across his ribs in an angry red line. It wasn't deep, but it would take a while to heal. She moved to her satchel, thankful that she'd thought to pack some medical supplies before she left home.

Clarke took out her needle and thread, "I'm sorry, this isn't going to be pleasant."

"Do what you have to, Princess. We need to get going before they come back to search for survivors," Bellamy said, gritting his teeth.

Clarke took a deep breath, his skin hot to the touch as she cleaned the wound to prepare it for suturing. When she was done, Bellamy was white faced and sweating. She hoped he stayed conscious because he was right, they couldn't stay here.

She threaded her needle, her stitches careful and sure as she closed the wound. She spoke soothingly, hoping her words would calm him as she finished her task. His knuckles where white from his tight grip on the bench, his eyes were closed, and she could tell each breath was forced.

"All done," Clarke said, relieved when he took a nice deep breath- color returning to his cheeks, "I'm just going to put on some salve and bandage you up."

His eyes were dark and pain filled, fixed on her face and bringing a blush to her cheeks. His hands were covered in blood, as was his torso and face. She quickly got a rag, dipping it in a clean bucket of water and gently washing away the grime and blood from his skin.

He was all hard edges and sharp angles. His biceps bulged, and her mind flashed back to the fierceness with which he fought- her mouth going dry. The king was a force to be reckoned with.

Clarke found her wrist clutched in his grasp, her eyes drawn to his. Looking at him now, she felt she could see his very soul. Never had she known this fire, and it scared her. She didn't know what it was about this man, but in that moment she was drowning in him.

"Thank you, Princess," Bellamy whispered, his lips drawing her attention.

"You're welcome," Clarke murmured, trying to ignore the brush of his thumb over her skin, "What do we do now?"

Her innocent question was like a bucket of ice water, bringing reality crashing down upon them. Bellamy gently disentangled her arm from his grasp, taking a deep shuddering breath.

"As much as I want to give my men a proper burial, we don't have the time. We have to leave before the rebel scavengers come. I have to get you to safety," Bellamy said, rising with a hiss of pain.

"Where will we go," Clarke asked as she quickly began to pack her few meager belongings.

Bellamy was silent, his back turned as he stuffed provisions into a pack. He pulled on a worn grey shirt, the fabric rough and patched.

"We'll have to walk to the village, but it'll take us all night," he answered finally, exhaustion clear in his voice.

"Bellamy, you need to rest. Maybe we could-" Clarke began before being cut off.

"We walk to the village," Bellamy said, his tone firm.

"We walk to the village then," Clarke agreed with a roll of her eyes.

So they started off, the moon their guiding light. The road was rough, and Clarke grit her teeth every time Bellamy stumbled. Her eyes would train on the place just below his heart searching for any sign that his wound had opened.

Soon the silence got to be too much, "Bellamy, why is the Grounder heda so angry with you?"

For a moment Clarke thought he would brush her off, tell her it was none of her business. Then he gave a huff of bitter laughter, his jaw set in a hard line.

"I took something from her," he said, his voice cold.

"What could you take that would incite so much hatred," Clarke asked in confusion.

"I took her love," Bellamy replied woodenly, "We were at war, and I did what I had to do to ensure the safety of her people. I thought that kind of loss would break her, make her open to surrender. It only made matters worse."

"You did what you thought was right," Clarke said thoughtfully, "That's all any leader can do."

"Yes, but I wasn't right Clarke. I was angry. I wanted to crush my enemy, and now I'm paying the price and so are you," Bellamy said with a heavy sigh.

Clarke allowed silence to fall between them, leaving Bellamy to his thoughts for a time. She'd known there'd been a time when he was a hothead, but she was having a hard time reconciling that man with the steady calm of the man beside her.

"You've changed," she said quietly.

"No I haven't," Bellamy said harshly, "I'm still the monster I always was."

Clarke stopped then, reaching out to take his hand as she forced him to face her.

"You're not a monster, Bellamy. I haven't known you long, but even I can see that there is goodness inside you. You are a good man, my king," Clarke whispered.

Before she knew what was happening, Clarke found herself pulled roughly against Bellamy's chest- his lips descending upon hers in a soul searing kiss. For a moment she didn't know what to do, but her body chose for her, her lips moving against his in a familiar dance that made her heart thrum loudly in her ears.

When he pulled away, she felt bereft of his warmth and her fingers wove through his silky curls. He didn't step away, and for that she was glad.

"Why did you do that," Clarke asked, her voice nothing but a hoarse whisper.

"We need to keep walking," Bellamy said, moving to step out of her embrace.

"I saw Finn," she said suddenly, causing him to freeze.

"What do you mean you saw him," Bellamy asked, his brows furrowing, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Clarke replied, "He was with the rebels. Do you think he's joined them?"

Bellamy looked down at her, her lips swollen and red from his kiss. Her cheeks were stained with a pretty blush, her blue eyes sparkling and begging for answers he couldn't give. All he knew was that if he were Finn Collins he never would have left her side. He would have fought to be with her.

"Probably," he said coldly, "From what you've told me he sounds pretty spineless. He probably joined to save his own skin."

"We don't know that," Clarke argued, eyes sparking with anger.

"Yes, but we don't know that he hasn't joined them either," Bellamy reasoned, "It would be tempting, join the enemy in exchange for protection."

"He would never do that," Clarke railed, "He was honest, he believed in peace!"

"Maybe so," Bellamy said, "but at times war is necessary Clarke. I wish I could always sit and fix everything with a few peace talks, but I can't. Sometimes you have to fight for what you believe in, fight for those you love."

Clarke shook her head, "He would never do that!"

Bellamy couldn't help the anger that rose up in him, "How do you know, Clarke? Sometimes people betray you. He was a man, capable of anything to save himself in the face of death. I've seen it many times."

"He wouldn't betray me," Clarke said, crossing her arms, but her voice cracked a little.

"I hope you're right, Princess, because if not you'll be a widow one way or another..."

-Lin&Shell


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 nor do I own anything on CW.**

 **A\N: hey! So here's this week's update! We hope you like so please tells us what you think by leaving a review! We want to give thanks for all those who followed, favorite, and reviewed! It means everything to us that you guys are liking the story!**

Chapter 8

They'd been walking for hours and Clarke's feet were killing her. Her worn boots were no longer made for walking over the rough, muddy terrain that led to the village they were so desperately searching for.

She glanced over at Bellamy, his shoulders tense and his brow furrowed. She fought the urge to cross her arms and huff. Her boots weren't the only things grating on her nerves- Bellamy's mood was chaffing just like the worn leather against her skin.

His dark mood had begun after their argument about Finn. She refused to even acknowledge the kiss they'd shared because it made her feel nearly overwhelmed with guilt. Her mind was racing, but the only thing she could do was push those thoughts to the dark recesses of her mind and instead think of a comfortable fire to warm her aching limbs.

"I don't remember it taking this long to get to the village," Bellamy complained, his voice causing Clarke to jump.

"Maybe that's because you were in a fancy carriage," Clarke said drily, rolling her eyes.

Bellamy shook his head, turning his gaze back to the road ahead of him. He didn't know how to explain his feelings. He was upset, confused, heck he didn't even know. All he did know was the blonde next to him was standing up for a man who had, by all indications, joined forces with the enemy.

If Clarke had seen Finn during the chaos of the attack then he knew that two things were possible. Either she would choose her former love, or she would be betrayed by that love. Both options made him angry, but he had no desire to explore the reasons for that.

Clarke stopped to stretch her aching muscles, "I hope this village isn't much further."

Bellamy stopped; watching as she tried to lace her ragged leather boots.

"When we get to the castle you're getting new shoes," he commented.

Clarke frowned down at her boots. They weren't that bad, but she didn't want to cast them back into silence.

"I would like that," she straightened, walking on her way once more.

Another half hour went by, and this time the silence between the two was more companionable than forced. It was late afternoon, and the sun was making its descent into the western sky. They'd walked all night, and now all day.

Clarke was ready to just give up, when with a sigh she finally saw the outline of the village in the distance.

"Look Bellamy," she grabbed his arm, "The village!"

Bellamy quickly pulled her to the side of the road, pulling up the hood of his cloak and basking his face in shadow, "Clarke, I can't be seen."

"I don't understand," she said with a confused shake of her head, "You're the king, you can do whatever you choose."

"I have none of my guards here, and there might be more rebels ahead," he sighed, "I have to protect you, Clarke, the rebels will be looking for you as well."

Clarke nodded, understanding the importance of going undetected when there could be trouble around any corner.

"Ok, we obviously can't go to the inn like we'd planned. So where are we going to go," she asked.

Bellamy thought for a moment, racking his brain for a safe place he could take her to await transport to the castle.

"I know someone who might help us," Bellamy said, taking the lead- Clarke following closely as they entered the village.

It was bustling, a market full of people. It didn't seem much different to Clarke, and reminded her of the market place at home. The same large wooden platform sat in the middle of the town square, causing a deep ache in her chest for her father and anger with her mother.

She wished everything could have been different, but she knew she could never return to the time when Finn had stood by her side, her father was alive, and she didn't have her mother.

Something confused her, however, as she looked up at Bellamy. His dark eyes roamed the crowd, his tan skin no stranger to a few scars- scars she had caressed when they'd kissed. Maybe past events had led her here to the king; perhaps their destinies were somehow intertwined.

At least she wasn't alone, she thought as she ducked her head and gripped the back of Bellamy's cloak. She didn't want to see anything more that reminded her of her father's death, so she stayed close to Bellamy as they wound through the crowds and narrow streets.

Clarke only looked up when they came to a stop at the end of a dark street, a small hut looming before them. Lantern light spilled through the cracks in the shutters, and voices whispered softly from within.

"Bellamy," she questioned, her hand moving from his cloak to entwine with his fingers.

"No matter what I say, just go with it," Bellamy said, knocking on the door.

Clarke didn't know what was going on, but she did trust him. She knew that whatever happened, she would do as he'd said.

The door opened then, revealing a beautiful young woman a little older than Clarke herself. She had dark hair, and her bright eyes were smiling up at Bellamy in awe.

"Hello, Roma," Bellamy greeted, his smile tight and shoulder's tense.

"Bellamy," Roma breathed, moving as though to embrace him.

"This is my wife, Clarke," Bellamy said, quickly stepping back and pulling the blonde into his side.

Clarke watched as the woman's smile faded, anger and sorrow warring for dominance in her gaze.

"This is your wife," Roma said, almost disbelievingly.

"Yes, and we need a place to stay for the night. We've been to visit her family. We were on our way home when bandits attacked us and stole our horses," Bellamy explained.

Clarke could see that Roma did not want to grant them entrance, or not her anyway. However, she opened the door a little wider and waved them inside.

"I can offer you lodging for the night, but no more. I have just finished preparing dinner if you're hungry," Roma said, her eyes once again finding Bellamy.

Clarke didn't know why, but for some reason she felt jealous. She hated the way this woman looked at her husband- uh Bellamy. It was like she was trying to devour him with her eyes.

"Thank you," Clarke said, snuggling into Bellamy's side, "Food would be greatly appreciated."

She ignored Bellamy's questioning stare as they took seats at the small wooden table. The stew that Roma served was tasty, and banished their hunger, but Clarke couldn't seem to stop herself from giving into the possessive urges the woman's longing gaze elicited.

After they'd finished, she helped Roma clean up. She had to swallow her urge to tell the woman to stop her staring. She had never been so glad as she was when the other woman showed them to a bed and then retreated to her own room.

Clarke was so upset, she didn't even notice Bellamy's blush as she removed her dress to stand before him in her shift. Nor did she notice him removing his shirt and boots.

When she was settled beside him, his skin warm against hers, she could take it no longer.

"How do you know her," Clarke hissed.

Bellamy was silent for a moment before he sighed deeply, "I met her when I was younger, and we had a small… dalliance."

Clarke huffed, "Do you love her?"

Bellamy's answer was sharp and immediate, "No!"

Clarke relaxed, "Oh…"

"It was a long time ago, Clarke. I hold no feelings for the woman," Bellamy assured, surprising her when he pulled her against his chest.

She sighed, content. She pushed the guilt to the back of her mind, and just lived in that moment with him. It should have been awkward, but she convinced herself they were just sharing body heat to ward off the cold.

Clarke closed her eyes, allowing sleep to come- her mind at ease, and Bellamy's warmth seeping into her body. She barely registered the soft kiss he pressed to her forehead, and the tightening of his embrace as he too drifted off.

The next morning she woke to a cold bed and a note on Bellamy's pillow.

Gone to procure transportation. Wait for me here- Bellamy

She dressed hurriedly, folding the note and placing it in her satchel before exiting the small room. She found Roma stoking the fire, a bubbling pot of porridge making her stomach rumble.

"You slept well, I trust," Roma said snippily.

"I did, thank you," Clarke said, cold and polite.

"Where is your husband," the other woman questioned, taunting.

"He's gone into the village to get transportation back to the cas- back to our village," Clarke replied, hoping Roma didn't notice her slip.

"We were lovers," Roma sighed, "Did he tell you that?"

Clarke fought the urge to roll her eyes, "Yes, my husband keeps nothing from me."

"Oh," Roma said, obviously disappointed.

Clarke sat down at the table, deciding to be kind even if it killed her.

"What was Bellamy like as a young man," she asked, hoping to both learn something about the man and survive this time with the woman.

Roma smiled fondly, "He was impetuous and spontaneous. He had this wildness about him, like nothing and no one could tame him. But I guess anything can be tamed…"

Clarke laughed, "Oh I haven't tamed him. He's still the hothead you remember."

"You love him don't you," Roma said suddenly, realization dawning in her dark eyes.

Clarke sat in deep thought for a moment, "Yes, I do."

She tried to tell herself that she was just playing along like Bellamy had asked her to, but part of her knew that there was a sliver of truth to her words. She was about to change the subject when the man himself came through the front door.

His cheeks were rosy from the cold and he was grinning from ear to ear. He swept in, kissing Clarke full on the lips with a chuckle.

"I bought two of the finest horses, my love. I can't wait for you to see them," he gushed, eyes bright and his grin infectious.

"Does this mean we're going home," Clarke asked, smiling at his enthusiasm.

"Yes, whenever you're ready," Bellamy said, taking her hand.

"Well, I'm ready now," Clarke said, "Thank you Roma for giving us a place to spend the night."

"You're welcome, Clarke," Roma said kindly.

Bellamy had no idea what had transpired between the two women while he'd been gone, but at the moment he didn't care. Clarke's reference to going home had set his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest, and her hand was soft and warm in his. He knew she was just playing along like he was, but that did nothing to stop his smile.

"Goodbye Roma," Bellamy called as he led Clarke out of the hut to where the two horses were tied.

"I don't know how to ride, remember," Clarke whispered when they'd come to a stop.

"Don't worry, this is a good horse. You'll be fine," Bellamy said as he helped her atop the animal's back.

She was stiff and unsure for a moment, but then she leaned down to pat the horse's neck with a smile. He shook his head as he mounted his own steed, clicking his tongue and urging the horse forward.

Clarke turned out to be a natural in the saddle, swaying easily with the animal's movements. She smiled in triumph, and pride soared in his chest. He couldn't help but return her smile, and enjoy this time alone with her.

He did feel sorrow for his men, and he worried for Kane, but he knew that she had to be his priority. He had to keep her safe, had to keep her with him. He didn't trust Finn, in fact he believed the man had turned traitor and he didn't want him to taint Clarke with his betrayal.

"You're awfully quiet," Clarke said, breaking through his thoughts.

"I was just thinking about Kane," Bellamy lied.

Clarke's gaze softened, "You'll get him back, Bellamy."

Bellamy simply nodded, unsure how to tell her that it wasn't his advisor he was really worried about. He didn't begin to feel at ease until the castle loomed in the distance, and he was sure they would finally be safe.

-Lin&Shell


End file.
